“Make sure you document that.” We’ve all heard it before. Someone tells you something that doesn’t sound quite right. You’d better document that! You’re boss tells you to do something that might come back to bite you. You’d better document that! You’re promised a bonus. You’d better document that!
I have been asked why I’m writing this blog. Rather than put anyone on the spot, I’ll relate the conversation I had with myself about this question. “Why am I writing this blog?” “Well, I want to document it.” “What does documenting it have to do with writing this blog?” “Good question. It actually has nothing to do with it except that it provides some material.” “What do you mean? Doesn’t writing this blog document that the work you’re doing on the boat?” “Of course it does. But that has nothing to do with documenting it.”
Maybe you’ve never had a conversation with yourself like that. Perhaps this gives you a little insight into the kinds of things I have to deal with on a daily basis. The nice thing about a conversation like this is that you always win the debate. The not so nice thing is that you also always loose. I know what you’re thinking. “He’s rambling again. Why am I reading this?” Well, the answer is that this blog provides, hopefully, a little entertainment, and tucked deep within these ramblings are some truly educational and helpful morsels.
So, back to documenting. Yes, this blog does document the progress on Condor. And this particular entry is aimed at shedding some light on documenting. Not documenting the process, but rather the process of documenting.
Condor has always been a documented vessel. And that can be documented. Have a look for yourself. http://www.st.nmfs.noaa.gov/st1/CoastGuard/VesselByName.html This wonderful site allows one to search a database of United States Coast Guard (USCG) documented vessels by name. Go ahead, try it! What did you find? If you searched for Condor, it should have returned about 38 results. One of those results should have been our Condor.
So, when we bought Condor, she was documented, as was the sale of Condor. But that a different kind of documentation. The documentation of the sale includes a signed and notarized bill of sale as well as the documentation of the signing of the documentation. Condor had been documented to the original owner from the time he bought her from the Sabre dealer and when he sold her to us, he signed that documentation over to us. It’s really not as confusing as it sounds.
Instead of the boat being titled by the state, Condor was registered with the Coast Guard and issued a Certificate of Documentation. Why would one do this? There are a few advantages to documenting rather than titling with a state. If the vessel will be going into foreign ports, it makes clearing customs a little easier. Also, if the boat will be moving from state to state, it should make things a little easier. Keep in mind though, that if you set up in a particular state and plan to stay there a while, you’ll probably still have to register the boat with that state. Condor, for example, will be registered in Maryland even though she is documented.
So how does one transfer a documented vessel from one person to another? That’s a good question. I’m glad you asked. If you’re financing the purchase though a bank or lending institution, you can pay them an exorbitant fee to do this for you. When we purchased Pony Express so many years ago, the bank wanted $500 to do this. As I mentioned in a previous rambling, I mean post, I am cheap. I’m not going pay someone $500 to do something that I can do for a whole lot less.
Another option is to pay an independent service to do it for you. A quick internet search found a couple options. One service will give me the forms I need for a mere $29.95. Where do they get the forms? The USCG, of course! And how much does the USCG charge for those forms? They’re free! That makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it? Pay someone $30 to send me a form that I can download at no cost? The sad thing is that there are probably people doing this.
This same firm will complete the paperwork for me for $150. All I have to do is enter all my information into their form. They will then complete the necessary USCG forms and send them to . . . me? Why wouldn’t they file them for me? Oh, they will, but not for $150. For $150, they just send them back to me and I have to send them to the USCG with my check. Wait! More money? What did I pay for? I gave them the info and all they did was type it into a form they downloaded for free? I could have done that at no cost!
Okay, so what’s going on? Some people want to make this vessel transfer into a big scary process that can’t be completed by the average person. News flash! The USCG has made it even easier. Okay, here it is. To transfer the ownership of a documented vessel, have the previous owner sign the back of the certificate of documentation over to you. Have it notarized. Get a notarized bill of sale. Complete form CG-1258 (exchange or replacement of certificate of documentation form – and instructions are on-line). Send in $84 for the exchange fee and $8 for the transfer fee and in a couple of weeks, the Coast Guard will send you your new certificate of documentation. That’s a total of $92 for all the math challenged readers. If you really want to spend an extra $150, feel free to mail it to me. I accept cash or check.
So, this is what we did for Condor. We didn’t pay someone $29.95 to download the form for us. We didn’t pay them $150 to fill in our information. We didn’t pay a bank over $500 to do it for us. Instead, we just used our common sense and did it ourselves. Remember, as you read elsewhere in this blog, cheap is beautiful.
And thus, Condor is documented. Documented that she belongs to us. And this blog has documented that she has been documented.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Making it fair
It’s not fair! Boy, how often do we hear that? Parents hear it all the time. “Why do I have to do my school work when Isaac does't have to go to school? Why don’t I get snow days? It’s not fair!” This is heard frequently in our home where Anna is homeschooled and Isaac goes to public school. She has a point. It isn’t fair. It also isn’t fair that she only spends a couple hours a day doing school work and Isaac has to spend all day, and then has homework. It isn’t fair.
Nobody said that life is fair. But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about keels. Some keels are fair, some aren’t. Condor’s isn’t. Or wasn’t. I don’t know if it has always been that way. I really kind of doubt it. In fact, I’m sure it wasn’t that way when she came out of the Sabre factory in 1985. Obviously, her keel was attempted to be made fair, but there were imperfections that they tried to hide. But something else had happened.
Condor’s keel had been neglected. Several layers of peeling bottom paint attempted to cover her not so fair keel. Apparently, high copper content bottom paint applied director to lead can cause galvanic corrosion. Some of these areas looked like blisters with chalky, crumbly material left inside. What exactly it is and how it got there is a bit of a mystery. But there is one thing that is clear. It isn’t fair to leave it unfair.
If you’re wondering what I mean by fair, let’s take a look at it. Fair (‘fer) from the Middle English fager. Does that help? Yeah, I didn’t think so. So how about, fair, as in “he inherited a fair estate”-ample, large. Well, Condor’s keel does hang down to 6’4” below the water. While you could call that ample keel, I don’t think that’s fair. Or at least it’s not the fair that I’m talking about.
Fair, as in impartial? I will be the first to tell you that Condor is about as impartial as one can be. She seems to treat all equally. Well, except that surveyor she didn’t like. Apparently he said something unkind so she wouldn’t let him hear her Westerbeke purr. Again, this isn’t the fair I’m discussing. While her gelcoat is bright white, fair, as in fair skin, isn’t it either.
So, how about this? "Pleasing to the eye or mind especially because of fresh, charming, or flawless quality." Hmm. Seems right. Condor’s keel was not of flawless quality. And it isn’t fair to leave it that way.
So the work began. And a fair amount of work it was. Tool number one: our trusty Paint Shaver. In this case, it would be renamed Paint, Lead, and various other garbage Shaver. This trusty tool is basically an electric 4” grinder with a cutter head attached. The cutter head holds three carbide triangles that scrape the surface as it rotates, sending paint, lead, or whatever else flying. Okay, we’re not so environmentally irresponsible as to allow lead and copper paint to freely do their damage. The Paint Shaver has a hood that doesn’t allow the particles to escape except through a 1-1/4” hole. And guarding that hole is a hose leading directly into our HEPA lead vacuum. This is tool number two. It is probably worth pointing out that Suzanne got herself certified as a lead paint removal contractor and thus, she make sure things are correctly.
Why would she do such a thing? Some of you may recall that we live in a restored (mostly) 1860’s farm house. The house was covered in multiple layers of heavy lead paint, and then wrapped in asbestos. Lead paint inside and out. Have you priced the removal of lead paint? It was cheaper for Suzanne to become a lead paint removal contractor and remove the lead paint ourselves. Hence the Paint Shaver and lead vacuum. And who knows how many pounds of lead paint were removed from the inside and outside of the house.
Okay, so donned in gloves, lead dust approved respirator, goggles, and ear protection, she went to work. The idea was to get the surface somewhat leveled out. The Paint Shaver quickly ate through the paint and high spots of the lead. A little sanding finished things up and got into the depressions. These depressions are the imperfections in the keel. Not the depressions that come from dealing with lots of snow (with more in the forecast) and a deadline for completing work on Condor fast approaching. Those depressions are best treated with something other than an orbital sander.
Then came the fun part troweling on the filler. We used an epoxy filler and trowled it out. First vertical, then horizontal, then diagonally. Once cured, ridges are sanded off with the orbital sander. More filler with a wide trowel. Then sanding with a longboard just the way the material was applied – vertical, horizontal, diagonal. A longboard is a long board that sandpaper sticks to. It keeps you from making low spots as you sand. This longboard has nothing to do with surfing. Well, that is unless you were using it to fair the bottom of a planning dinghy.
.JPG)
I don’t know if it’s fair. Fair to Suzanne to do all this work? Fair to have to do this work to Condor? Fair to have let Condor get into this condition? Fair to have to do school work while Isaac has a snow day?
But, it is safe to say that Condor’s keel is fair. And not just the kind of okay fair.
Nobody said that life is fair. But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about keels. Some keels are fair, some aren’t. Condor’s isn’t. Or wasn’t. I don’t know if it has always been that way. I really kind of doubt it. In fact, I’m sure it wasn’t that way when she came out of the Sabre factory in 1985. Obviously, her keel was attempted to be made fair, but there were imperfections that they tried to hide. But something else had happened.
Condor’s keel had been neglected. Several layers of peeling bottom paint attempted to cover her not so fair keel. Apparently, high copper content bottom paint applied director to lead can cause galvanic corrosion. Some of these areas looked like blisters with chalky, crumbly material left inside. What exactly it is and how it got there is a bit of a mystery. But there is one thing that is clear. It isn’t fair to leave it unfair.
If you’re wondering what I mean by fair, let’s take a look at it. Fair (‘fer) from the Middle English fager. Does that help? Yeah, I didn’t think so. So how about, fair, as in “he inherited a fair estate”-ample, large. Well, Condor’s keel does hang down to 6’4” below the water. While you could call that ample keel, I don’t think that’s fair. Or at least it’s not the fair that I’m talking about.
Fair, as in impartial? I will be the first to tell you that Condor is about as impartial as one can be. She seems to treat all equally. Well, except that surveyor she didn’t like. Apparently he said something unkind so she wouldn’t let him hear her Westerbeke purr. Again, this isn’t the fair I’m discussing. While her gelcoat is bright white, fair, as in fair skin, isn’t it either.
So, how about this? "Pleasing to the eye or mind especially because of fresh, charming, or flawless quality." Hmm. Seems right. Condor’s keel was not of flawless quality. And it isn’t fair to leave it that way.
So the work began. And a fair amount of work it was. Tool number one: our trusty Paint Shaver. In this case, it would be renamed Paint, Lead, and various other garbage Shaver. This trusty tool is basically an electric 4” grinder with a cutter head attached. The cutter head holds three carbide triangles that scrape the surface as it rotates, sending paint, lead, or whatever else flying. Okay, we’re not so environmentally irresponsible as to allow lead and copper paint to freely do their damage. The Paint Shaver has a hood that doesn’t allow the particles to escape except through a 1-1/4” hole. And guarding that hole is a hose leading directly into our HEPA lead vacuum. This is tool number two. It is probably worth pointing out that Suzanne got herself certified as a lead paint removal contractor and thus, she make sure things are correctly.
Why would she do such a thing? Some of you may recall that we live in a restored (mostly) 1860’s farm house. The house was covered in multiple layers of heavy lead paint, and then wrapped in asbestos. Lead paint inside and out. Have you priced the removal of lead paint? It was cheaper for Suzanne to become a lead paint removal contractor and remove the lead paint ourselves. Hence the Paint Shaver and lead vacuum. And who knows how many pounds of lead paint were removed from the inside and outside of the house.
Okay, so donned in gloves, lead dust approved respirator, goggles, and ear protection, she went to work. The idea was to get the surface somewhat leveled out. The Paint Shaver quickly ate through the paint and high spots of the lead. A little sanding finished things up and got into the depressions. These depressions are the imperfections in the keel. Not the depressions that come from dealing with lots of snow (with more in the forecast) and a deadline for completing work on Condor fast approaching. Those depressions are best treated with something other than an orbital sander.
Then came the fun part troweling on the filler. We used an epoxy filler and trowled it out. First vertical, then horizontal, then diagonally. Once cured, ridges are sanded off with the orbital sander. More filler with a wide trowel. Then sanding with a longboard just the way the material was applied – vertical, horizontal, diagonal. A longboard is a long board that sandpaper sticks to. It keeps you from making low spots as you sand. This longboard has nothing to do with surfing. Well, that is unless you were using it to fair the bottom of a planning dinghy.
.JPG)
I don’t know if it’s fair. Fair to Suzanne to do all this work? Fair to have to do this work to Condor? Fair to have let Condor get into this condition? Fair to have to do school work while Isaac has a snow day?
But, it is safe to say that Condor’s keel is fair. And not just the kind of okay fair.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Valentine’s Day
I’m torn. Not literally, but figuratively. Being literally torn would probably be accompanied by a great deal of pain. While I am enduring a small amount of pain in the way of sore muscles from skiing, I’m certainly not torn. Actually, thinking back a great number of years to microbiology and anatomy and physiology, I may be, in fact, torn. Isn’t muscle pain primarily the result of small tears in the muscle fibers? Okay, so I’m literally torn a little bit, but more so, figuratively.
You may ask, why am I torn? As I mentioned, Suzanne and I are New Jersey for a romantic ski weekend. And while I am greatly enjoying the time away, I’m also contemplating the list of required work for Condor. And now you may ask, why am I contemplating the list of required work for Condor when I should be enjoying the time away with my wife. Well, that’s an easy one. Since Suzanne was 100% behind the idea of buying Condor, it’s a joint project. Since it’s a joint project, it makes sense that when we’re together, Condor should be part of the thoughts and conversations. Plus, I was told I’m not allowed to think about that nasty, four-letter word this weekend. That’s right, the “w” word – work.
So, in between trips to the mountain, I think about all that needs to be done. With a somewhat self imposed deadline of March 31, we’re quickly running out of time. And the two blizzards this year haven’t helped. Yesterday, I heard some mention the three blizzards this year. I was able to restrain myself and not correct them. I see that it might be easy to think that we’ve had three blizzards this year. If you think back (and possibly look at a calendar), you’ll discover that our “first” blizzard this season was actually in December, and therefore, it was the last blizzard of last year. So, we’ve only had two blizzards this year.
But these blizzards and cold temperatures aren’t helping the cause. Condor sits patently waiting for the care she has been promised. Perhaps the kids could take notice of her patience and learn by her example. “When’s dinner?” “In a little while. I’ve got to take care of the chickens first.” “I’m hungry. Why isn’t it ready yet?” “Because I had to clean up your laundry and clean the cat boxes first.” Okay, I admit, this was actually a conversation between Suzanne and I, but it just as easily could have been between one of the kids and Suzanne.
Because I can’t be working on Condor, as she waits patiently, I’m writing this entry in the blog. This answers the question, why are you making another entry in the blog, if you haven’t done any more work? I know how you guys think. I had one reader pose a similar question. I use the term “reader” rather loosely. If a person who, while driving along the highway, reads a billboard, one might label them as a billboard reader. You are reading this and thus, I label you a reader.
And so, this reader asked, “Why did you make a blog for a single boat? Why not just a general blog for all your boats, or all your experiences? You will now be limited to talking about one boat in particular. What happens when you start working on another boat?” This reader (and the four of you will have to argue over which of you this was) has a good point. We have, in fact, restored over thirty boats in the past 15 years. But why would this blog not be able to relate some of those experiences?
Another reader asked if Condor brings the number of currently owned boats to a even half a dozen. I find I am torn with this question. Not only am I amazed that I have more than one reader, but that this person would think that I am a hoarder of boats. Of course we don’t have six boats! We only have five. We sold a Laser and the skiff. My 1975 pea-green Laser isn’t a project anymore. She’s solid and light and has upgraded rigging. I just need time to sail her.
As I sit here, torn, but ready to go back to the mountain to tear up the snow, I think about all the work on Condor that is not getting done. I think about Condor waiting patiently. Perhaps I’ll send her a Valentine’s Day card.
You may ask, why am I torn? As I mentioned, Suzanne and I are New Jersey for a romantic ski weekend. And while I am greatly enjoying the time away, I’m also contemplating the list of required work for Condor. And now you may ask, why am I contemplating the list of required work for Condor when I should be enjoying the time away with my wife. Well, that’s an easy one. Since Suzanne was 100% behind the idea of buying Condor, it’s a joint project. Since it’s a joint project, it makes sense that when we’re together, Condor should be part of the thoughts and conversations. Plus, I was told I’m not allowed to think about that nasty, four-letter word this weekend. That’s right, the “w” word – work.
So, in between trips to the mountain, I think about all that needs to be done. With a somewhat self imposed deadline of March 31, we’re quickly running out of time. And the two blizzards this year haven’t helped. Yesterday, I heard some mention the three blizzards this year. I was able to restrain myself and not correct them. I see that it might be easy to think that we’ve had three blizzards this year. If you think back (and possibly look at a calendar), you’ll discover that our “first” blizzard this season was actually in December, and therefore, it was the last blizzard of last year. So, we’ve only had two blizzards this year.
But these blizzards and cold temperatures aren’t helping the cause. Condor sits patently waiting for the care she has been promised. Perhaps the kids could take notice of her patience and learn by her example. “When’s dinner?” “In a little while. I’ve got to take care of the chickens first.” “I’m hungry. Why isn’t it ready yet?” “Because I had to clean up your laundry and clean the cat boxes first.” Okay, I admit, this was actually a conversation between Suzanne and I, but it just as easily could have been between one of the kids and Suzanne.
Because I can’t be working on Condor, as she waits patiently, I’m writing this entry in the blog. This answers the question, why are you making another entry in the blog, if you haven’t done any more work? I know how you guys think. I had one reader pose a similar question. I use the term “reader” rather loosely. If a person who, while driving along the highway, reads a billboard, one might label them as a billboard reader. You are reading this and thus, I label you a reader.
And so, this reader asked, “Why did you make a blog for a single boat? Why not just a general blog for all your boats, or all your experiences? You will now be limited to talking about one boat in particular. What happens when you start working on another boat?” This reader (and the four of you will have to argue over which of you this was) has a good point. We have, in fact, restored over thirty boats in the past 15 years. But why would this blog not be able to relate some of those experiences?
Another reader asked if Condor brings the number of currently owned boats to a even half a dozen. I find I am torn with this question. Not only am I amazed that I have more than one reader, but that this person would think that I am a hoarder of boats. Of course we don’t have six boats! We only have five. We sold a Laser and the skiff. My 1975 pea-green Laser isn’t a project anymore. She’s solid and light and has upgraded rigging. I just need time to sail her.
As I sit here, torn, but ready to go back to the mountain to tear up the snow, I think about all the work on Condor that is not getting done. I think about Condor waiting patiently. Perhaps I’ll send her a Valentine’s Day card.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Condor’s new clothes
As I mentioned in a previous post, Condor’s mainsail was toast. Okay, it wasn’t actually toast, as toast might be something useful. While it had no holes, it was badly UV damaged and very stained with mildew and mold. When the finger test was applied, its weakness was exposed. More accurately, my finger was exposed as it easily punctured through the cloth.
So, picture this: Condor clothed in a bright, white garment, crisp and almost blinding. Brand new and freshly put on today! Untouched by human hands. Isn’t it beautiful? Not really. Actually, I’m quite sick of it. We’ve had almost 4’ of this garbage in the past few days. My back is aching from the little bit of clearing I’ve done around here. Now I have to shovel the white death off poor Condor.
Back on point. Condor’s mainsail is shot. I was hoping that it might be salvageable, but alas, it is not. Being cheap, yes, cheap as anyone who knows me will confirm, I’ll strip the battens, and slugs off the sail and donate it to Seabags or Ella Vickers. In return, they’ll give me a nice bag. Not that I need another bag. I think we’ve accumulated about a dozen various totes and duffels. The last duffel I got from Ella is so huge, it can’t be moved when filled.
Wow, it is so easy to wander off point. I suppose it’s the ADD. So, I’ve got to come up with a new main. The jib and Genoa are both in great shape. The PO only club raced the boat and I don’t think he did that often. He always raced non-spin, so the spinnaker is virtually untouched. I think he said he hoisted it once.
You would think that being cheap, I would go to Bacon’s and find something that would fit. Well, the thought did cross my mind. Nothing was close that was any good. I can’t see paying a grand for a used sail then paying to have it recut to fit. So, my desire for quality and performance choked my cheapness and prevailed. So a new mainsail it would be.
Have you ever had to choose a manufacturer for a new sail? There are, what, about 75 sail manufacturers out there now? And everyone you talk to says to use their guy because all the others are worthless. But then the cheapness reared its beautiful head (you thought I was going to say “ugly head”. But no, I think cheap is beautiful. Sailrite! Yeah, that’s the answer. I can buy a kit for $1200 and come out with a brand new sail. I’m sure I can handle building the sail. After all, I’ve been repairing and rebuilding sails for years. The DSC has the great old singer from 1930. With the DC repower, it has no problem punching through multiple layers of cloth. Hmm, but with no reverse, it is kind of a pain to use.
Scott! He’s the answer to the machine. He’s got a Sailrite machine. It actually has reverse. And thinking about it, Scott built a main and a Genoa from Sailrite kite. If he can do it, certainly, I can.
So, I’ll order the kit and spread it out . . .Where? The garage attic, while it would make a great 24X36 sail loft, it’s a little packed full of stuff and it’s rather cold these days. Hmm. Maybe this kit isn’t such a good idea. Besides, when would I have the time?
Okay, back to sorting through sail manufactures. I can pay top dollar to have the sail maker come take measurements and build the sail, then test fit it. There are a bunch in the area. But, while I want the performance, I’m probably not going to do a lot of racing. So, most of these guys have a cruise branch that builds the sail to specs in a third world country. That would be cheaper.
A couple of on-line quote forms later, and I’m looking at spending at least $2500. Oh, there were those guys in FL that would build it for $2k. But wait, I’m missing something. Rather someone. Who’s that guy I’ve been stringing along about building Sonar and Impulse sails for the DSC? Ah, yes, Matt. Clarification – I’m cheap, but not a jerk. Okay, I admit, I am, at times, a jerk. I haven’t really been stringing Matt along. I seriously want to have him build sails for the DSC. I just can’t come up with the money to get it done. He made me a really good offer, and he’d build exactly what I want.
So, I contacted Matt for a quote. His quote was closer to the $2500. Being cheap, I had to ask if he would meet the $2k FL quote. Lo and behold, he said he would! Great! The best of both worlds – lower cost and he’s local (well, somewhat). And better yet, he’s going to measure Condor and make sure they fit. So, Matt, the check is in the mail (it really is, folks). I can hardly wait.
So what are Condor’s new clothes going to be? Hopefully, not like the Emperor’s. You all remember the story? The guy wants new clothes, but the sail makers, oops, I mean weavers pull a fast one and after spending his money, he ends up with nothing but is too dim (and prideful) to realize it. Wait! Are you trying to say that I’m shallow and pretentious? This is my story and I inflict my own doubts and worries. (Seriously, I have no worry or concern about the quality of sail that Matt’s building for me.)
I sent him the specs for the sail. How did I get them you ask? Well, I do have the old sail to spread out and measure. And, this is, after all, a Sabre. Condor’s owner manual, though 25 years old was filled with almost every detail needed to build her. And, this includes the specs for her sail including set-backs, set-ups, off-sets and other sailmakerly things.
My cheapness gets the better of me and I decide we’ll build the mainsail cover. Matt says it makes sense for me to do it.
So, picture this: Condor clothed in a bright, white garment, crisp and almost blinding. Brand new and freshly put on today! Isn’t it beautiful? No! Not snow! A beautiful new mainsail! I can hardly wait!
So, picture this: Condor clothed in a bright, white garment, crisp and almost blinding. Brand new and freshly put on today! Untouched by human hands. Isn’t it beautiful? Not really. Actually, I’m quite sick of it. We’ve had almost 4’ of this garbage in the past few days. My back is aching from the little bit of clearing I’ve done around here. Now I have to shovel the white death off poor Condor.
Back on point. Condor’s mainsail is shot. I was hoping that it might be salvageable, but alas, it is not. Being cheap, yes, cheap as anyone who knows me will confirm, I’ll strip the battens, and slugs off the sail and donate it to Seabags or Ella Vickers. In return, they’ll give me a nice bag. Not that I need another bag. I think we’ve accumulated about a dozen various totes and duffels. The last duffel I got from Ella is so huge, it can’t be moved when filled.
Wow, it is so easy to wander off point. I suppose it’s the ADD. So, I’ve got to come up with a new main. The jib and Genoa are both in great shape. The PO only club raced the boat and I don’t think he did that often. He always raced non-spin, so the spinnaker is virtually untouched. I think he said he hoisted it once.
You would think that being cheap, I would go to Bacon’s and find something that would fit. Well, the thought did cross my mind. Nothing was close that was any good. I can’t see paying a grand for a used sail then paying to have it recut to fit. So, my desire for quality and performance choked my cheapness and prevailed. So a new mainsail it would be.
Have you ever had to choose a manufacturer for a new sail? There are, what, about 75 sail manufacturers out there now? And everyone you talk to says to use their guy because all the others are worthless. But then the cheapness reared its beautiful head (you thought I was going to say “ugly head”. But no, I think cheap is beautiful. Sailrite! Yeah, that’s the answer. I can buy a kit for $1200 and come out with a brand new sail. I’m sure I can handle building the sail. After all, I’ve been repairing and rebuilding sails for years. The DSC has the great old singer from 1930. With the DC repower, it has no problem punching through multiple layers of cloth. Hmm, but with no reverse, it is kind of a pain to use.
Scott! He’s the answer to the machine. He’s got a Sailrite machine. It actually has reverse. And thinking about it, Scott built a main and a Genoa from Sailrite kite. If he can do it, certainly, I can.
So, I’ll order the kit and spread it out . . .Where? The garage attic, while it would make a great 24X36 sail loft, it’s a little packed full of stuff and it’s rather cold these days. Hmm. Maybe this kit isn’t such a good idea. Besides, when would I have the time?
Okay, back to sorting through sail manufactures. I can pay top dollar to have the sail maker come take measurements and build the sail, then test fit it. There are a bunch in the area. But, while I want the performance, I’m probably not going to do a lot of racing. So, most of these guys have a cruise branch that builds the sail to specs in a third world country. That would be cheaper.
A couple of on-line quote forms later, and I’m looking at spending at least $2500. Oh, there were those guys in FL that would build it for $2k. But wait, I’m missing something. Rather someone. Who’s that guy I’ve been stringing along about building Sonar and Impulse sails for the DSC? Ah, yes, Matt. Clarification – I’m cheap, but not a jerk. Okay, I admit, I am, at times, a jerk. I haven’t really been stringing Matt along. I seriously want to have him build sails for the DSC. I just can’t come up with the money to get it done. He made me a really good offer, and he’d build exactly what I want.
So, I contacted Matt for a quote. His quote was closer to the $2500. Being cheap, I had to ask if he would meet the $2k FL quote. Lo and behold, he said he would! Great! The best of both worlds – lower cost and he’s local (well, somewhat). And better yet, he’s going to measure Condor and make sure they fit. So, Matt, the check is in the mail (it really is, folks). I can hardly wait.
So what are Condor’s new clothes going to be? Hopefully, not like the Emperor’s. You all remember the story? The guy wants new clothes, but the sail makers, oops, I mean weavers pull a fast one and after spending his money, he ends up with nothing but is too dim (and prideful) to realize it. Wait! Are you trying to say that I’m shallow and pretentious? This is my story and I inflict my own doubts and worries. (Seriously, I have no worry or concern about the quality of sail that Matt’s building for me.)
I sent him the specs for the sail. How did I get them you ask? Well, I do have the old sail to spread out and measure. And, this is, after all, a Sabre. Condor’s owner manual, though 25 years old was filled with almost every detail needed to build her. And, this includes the specs for her sail including set-backs, set-ups, off-sets and other sailmakerly things.
My cheapness gets the better of me and I decide we’ll build the mainsail cover. Matt says it makes sense for me to do it.
So, picture this: Condor clothed in a bright, white garment, crisp and almost blinding. Brand new and freshly put on today! Isn’t it beautiful? No! Not snow! A beautiful new mainsail! I can hardly wait!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
She Bangs!
She bangs! She bangs! She moves! She moves! The Ricky Martin tune resonates through my brain. I think the words even escape through my grinning lips. Suzanne interrupts my glorious moment, "You know when you say it that way, it doesn't sound like a good thing." Okay, so the words aren’t the best. But can I still do my happy dance? She concedes and lets me express some of my jubilance.
Condor's Westrerbeke 27 had been declared dead by a marine surveyor. That's a fairly large engine to remove from a sailboat sitting on the hard. 434lbs dry. Not like the little Yanmar 1gm that Sam hauled out of the J29 by himself. This was a real engine. Four cylinders; fresh water cooled. With the halyards deteriorated by 25 years in the sun, we weren’t easily going to lift this beast out.
The previous owner told us that the surveyor had said it ran for a little while and died. Hmm. What exactly does that mean? He wasn't able to offer any more insight. He did say that he had never had any trouble with it. He even topped up the tank when he put her away for the winter.
Okay, so she ran a little. That means she was at least getting some fuel and must have had some compression. But why would she die? Well, this was going to take some investigation. And besides, if Sam was going to work on her, he’d probably have to do it in the boat.
She cranks! She cranks! Okay, doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? But the broker had said she cranks, and the surveyor said she ran and died. So she’s not seized. Next step is to get some batteries there and see what’s going on.
I’m not an idiot, though at times it takes some work to convince others of that fact. I wasn’t going to crank the engine with who knows what for oil. We took our handy vacuum oil changer and went to suck the oil out. Westerbeke added this neat hose to the bottom of the oil pan which when attached to my handy vacuum oil changer thing, allows all the oil to get sucked out. Yeah, kinda black, but not too uncommon for old diesels. Four quarts of fresh oil back in.
Now on to the fuel. It ran, then died. That sounds familiar. Flashback to the Pony days. Pony Express was our 1984 Express 30. Great boat that left many fond memories. Among the favorites was the trip with Scott to the start of the Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. I knew that Pony had developed some scum in her diesel tank. And I knew the best way to get it out was to take the tank out and clean it. But what’s the rush? And being cheap, I couldn’t just waste the good fuel. So, the plan was to run her almost out of fuel, then pull her for the season and remove the tank. Scott’s plan was to go watch the start of the schooner race – on my boat. We headed from Middle River down the bay under sail. With the wind from the north, we hoisted the spinnaker and sailed to the rendezvous just south of the bay bridge. With the schooners congregating there, we dropped the sails and motored around them. This was the year of the no breeze start. And how exciting it was! After the start, schooners dropped anchor to keep from being pushed north by the current. Crew abandoned ship for a swim rather sitting around with nothing to do.
We motored around them, careful to keep out of their way. After all, they were racing, even though they weren’t moving. The excitement was killing us and we decided we had seen enough of the non-race, so we started making our way toward the bridge. The engine surged a little then sputtered. I knew in an instant that I had found the sludge in the tank I had been looking for. I shut the engine down and we drifted. A tiny breeze from the south registered about 1 knot on the anemometer. The current was pushing us north at about one quarter knot. We quickly hoisted the quarter ounce spinnaker with the 3/16” light air sheets. The previous owner had called this the “deli wrap” chute because it was so light. But we were moving and out of the way of the schooners. At this rate, we would make it back to middle river by noon the following day. Fine by me, but Scott needed to get to work. Hmm. I seem to be digressing again. To wrap up this little mise-en-abyme, the wind clocked and built, bringing rain and a breeze up to twenty knots. We made it back to the slip and docked under sail. I pulled the tank a few days later and cleaned the sludge.
This little meander down memory lane was brought to you by a clogged fuel filter. Sailboaters (I can’t speak for powerboaters) have this wonderful habit installing a 2 micron filter in the primary filter. Think about it, if it is primary why do we put the finest filter in there? Anyway, it would make sense that Condor’s primary filter was clogged. After sitting for over six years, allowing all the wonderful flora and fauna to grow in the fertile fuel, it wouldn’t take much to clog a two micron filter.
And into the filter we dove (not literally, or course). It was black as night. We removed the filter element, bowl and separator. It took some work, but we were able to remove the black scum that had been deposited. With a West Marine just down the road, we were able to get a new element for it. And, of course, being sailboaters, we opted for the 2 micron.
Westerbeke has all kinds of neat features including an electric fuel pump which makes the system self-bleeding. A few seconds of the ignition switch being on and the system is filled with nice clean fuel. The Westerbeke manual recommends 20 seconds of preheat from the glow plugs for the 38 degree air temperature. A little prayer, a cross of the fingers, and a push of the start button and Condor’s Westerbeke whirs. A sputter. Five seconds more of the glow plugs, and another push of the starter button. She bangs! More precisely, she purrs. The old Westerbeke purrs like a kitten. She responds to the throttle with no hesitation. No cloud of smoke. No strange noises.
Incredible! There’s $9k we won’t be spending! And the Happy Dance! She bangs! But in a good way.
Condor's Westrerbeke 27 had been declared dead by a marine surveyor. That's a fairly large engine to remove from a sailboat sitting on the hard. 434lbs dry. Not like the little Yanmar 1gm that Sam hauled out of the J29 by himself. This was a real engine. Four cylinders; fresh water cooled. With the halyards deteriorated by 25 years in the sun, we weren’t easily going to lift this beast out.
The previous owner told us that the surveyor had said it ran for a little while and died. Hmm. What exactly does that mean? He wasn't able to offer any more insight. He did say that he had never had any trouble with it. He even topped up the tank when he put her away for the winter.
Okay, so she ran a little. That means she was at least getting some fuel and must have had some compression. But why would she die? Well, this was going to take some investigation. And besides, if Sam was going to work on her, he’d probably have to do it in the boat.
She cranks! She cranks! Okay, doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? But the broker had said she cranks, and the surveyor said she ran and died. So she’s not seized. Next step is to get some batteries there and see what’s going on.
I’m not an idiot, though at times it takes some work to convince others of that fact. I wasn’t going to crank the engine with who knows what for oil. We took our handy vacuum oil changer and went to suck the oil out. Westerbeke added this neat hose to the bottom of the oil pan which when attached to my handy vacuum oil changer thing, allows all the oil to get sucked out. Yeah, kinda black, but not too uncommon for old diesels. Four quarts of fresh oil back in.
Now on to the fuel. It ran, then died. That sounds familiar. Flashback to the Pony days. Pony Express was our 1984 Express 30. Great boat that left many fond memories. Among the favorites was the trip with Scott to the start of the Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. I knew that Pony had developed some scum in her diesel tank. And I knew the best way to get it out was to take the tank out and clean it. But what’s the rush? And being cheap, I couldn’t just waste the good fuel. So, the plan was to run her almost out of fuel, then pull her for the season and remove the tank. Scott’s plan was to go watch the start of the schooner race – on my boat. We headed from Middle River down the bay under sail. With the wind from the north, we hoisted the spinnaker and sailed to the rendezvous just south of the bay bridge. With the schooners congregating there, we dropped the sails and motored around them. This was the year of the no breeze start. And how exciting it was! After the start, schooners dropped anchor to keep from being pushed north by the current. Crew abandoned ship for a swim rather sitting around with nothing to do.
We motored around them, careful to keep out of their way. After all, they were racing, even though they weren’t moving. The excitement was killing us and we decided we had seen enough of the non-race, so we started making our way toward the bridge. The engine surged a little then sputtered. I knew in an instant that I had found the sludge in the tank I had been looking for. I shut the engine down and we drifted. A tiny breeze from the south registered about 1 knot on the anemometer. The current was pushing us north at about one quarter knot. We quickly hoisted the quarter ounce spinnaker with the 3/16” light air sheets. The previous owner had called this the “deli wrap” chute because it was so light. But we were moving and out of the way of the schooners. At this rate, we would make it back to middle river by noon the following day. Fine by me, but Scott needed to get to work. Hmm. I seem to be digressing again. To wrap up this little mise-en-abyme, the wind clocked and built, bringing rain and a breeze up to twenty knots. We made it back to the slip and docked under sail. I pulled the tank a few days later and cleaned the sludge.
This little meander down memory lane was brought to you by a clogged fuel filter. Sailboaters (I can’t speak for powerboaters) have this wonderful habit installing a 2 micron filter in the primary filter. Think about it, if it is primary why do we put the finest filter in there? Anyway, it would make sense that Condor’s primary filter was clogged. After sitting for over six years, allowing all the wonderful flora and fauna to grow in the fertile fuel, it wouldn’t take much to clog a two micron filter.
And into the filter we dove (not literally, or course). It was black as night. We removed the filter element, bowl and separator. It took some work, but we were able to remove the black scum that had been deposited. With a West Marine just down the road, we were able to get a new element for it. And, of course, being sailboaters, we opted for the 2 micron.
Westerbeke has all kinds of neat features including an electric fuel pump which makes the system self-bleeding. A few seconds of the ignition switch being on and the system is filled with nice clean fuel. The Westerbeke manual recommends 20 seconds of preheat from the glow plugs for the 38 degree air temperature. A little prayer, a cross of the fingers, and a push of the start button and Condor’s Westerbeke whirs. A sputter. Five seconds more of the glow plugs, and another push of the starter button. She bangs! More precisely, she purrs. The old Westerbeke purrs like a kitten. She responds to the throttle with no hesitation. No cloud of smoke. No strange noises.
Incredible! There’s $9k we won’t be spending! And the Happy Dance! She bangs! But in a good way.
Finding Condor
It was one of those "Oh No! What have we done?" moments. Did we miss something huge? We had just made a really 'low-ball' offer and the broker told us the owner accepted it. We thought we had gone over everything fairly well. Knew what was good and what needed work. But had we missed something big?
It all started a couple months ago. A friend had been soliciting boat donations for the Downtown Sailing Center. He received an unpleasant response on this one. Apparently a broker had listed a couple of boats on Craigslist. My friend had dutifully sent a email making the lister aware that donation may be an option. He forwarded me the listing and the not so pleasant response. The listing stated that the boat needed work, but I saw potential.
Apparently, seeing potential in things doesn't mean that you are an optimist. In fact, I'm beginning to believe it can be a curse. I was riding with a friend just a few days ago. As we passed a boat yard full of neglected boats, I commented on the boats with potential. He laughed and told me of his recent encounter with "potential". He and his wife were driving though a depressed area. As they passed an old run down abandoned factory, his wife commented on the building and how it should be turned into a restaurant. It had such potential. He responded that it had no potential. It was in a depressed area and even it was turned into the best restaurant, no one would come - no one around had any money to spend on a restaurant. No potential!
Anyway, this boat had potential, at least to me. We contacted the broker and asked for a list of known problems and any other important information. "Engine needs to be rebuilt/replaced. running rigging needs to be replaced. Several ports leak. Soft spots close to the chain-plate moisture not sure of the level. Leaks on 4 of the port windows. Flooring beneath the mast step is "spongy" with rot. The mast/deck joint needs to be resealed to stop rainwater from entering the boat. Keel needs to repair; current repair job is ugly. All the wire and rope rigging need replacing. Hull needs faring, sanding, primer and repainting." Okay. Still has potential. We've dealt with all this before.
The most recent "potential" we had dealt with was Determination, a 1985 Jeanneau 27. Determination had been sitting on the hard, neglected for over six years. At some point her engine had been removed and epoxy putty had been glopped in the shaft log. Perhaps she would have been in better condition if they had left the hole. She leaked profusely and with no where for the water to drain, she filled up. The cabin sole had rotted away as did the lower six inches of all her cabinetry. Her cushions had molded and the headliner was falling down. She was sporting a lovely growth of green slime on the inside of her ports. Best of all, she had a large soft spot just forward of her mast. But she had potential! We went to work and rebuilt her, even finding a replacement engine. But I digress. We're talking about Condor.
So, armed with our list of known issues, a camera and a plastic hammer, we made a visit to Condor. She seemed so lonely sitting at the end of the yard. She looked like she was being punished. Her stern was toward the water as though she had been told she wasn't allowed to go back in. Or maybe she had just given up. But we thought she had potential.
We sounded her hull and deck and were satisfied with what we found. We dug through the cabin, inspecting the rotten floor. Yeah, it was a little worse than just around the mast step that was spongy with rot. Halyards fell apart as they were touched. The mainsail had been left on with no cover - that was obviously shot. But she appeared to be a well built boat, and with great potential. We gathered as much information as we could took a hundred photos and left.
Yeah, she has potential, but so does the neglected Express 35 in Toronto. Condor draws 6'4", the Express only 5'6". With the Bahama's gently calling, the Express with her windlass, windvane, and life raft was seeming more logical. Maybe we should get the Express and sail her down from Toronto. It would be a great trip. But she would need some work before sailing. She had a split in her rudder and a small area of delamination at the waterline.
After wrestling for weeks over who had the most potential, we settled it. We had devised a plan. We would make a low-ball offer on Condor. We knew the owner would refuse and that would be our sign that we should pursue the Express.
So, we did it. We offered less than half of the asking. Note, the asking was already far less than a third of what her value would be had she not been neglected. We called the broker and apologetically presented our offer. He somewhat reluctantly asked that we put it in writing and told us that he would present it to the owner.
Then the wait. And then the answer. The owner, what? Accepted? Oh no! What did we miss? How did we end up with 1985 Sabre 36? Yeah, our offered allowed for a complete rebuild of her cabin sole, the replacement of her engine, mainsail and running rigging, and the fairing of her hull. It even allowed some room for upgrades.
So, she's ours, our Condor. But she has great potential.
It all started a couple months ago. A friend had been soliciting boat donations for the Downtown Sailing Center. He received an unpleasant response on this one. Apparently a broker had listed a couple of boats on Craigslist. My friend had dutifully sent a email making the lister aware that donation may be an option. He forwarded me the listing and the not so pleasant response. The listing stated that the boat needed work, but I saw potential.
Apparently, seeing potential in things doesn't mean that you are an optimist. In fact, I'm beginning to believe it can be a curse. I was riding with a friend just a few days ago. As we passed a boat yard full of neglected boats, I commented on the boats with potential. He laughed and told me of his recent encounter with "potential". He and his wife were driving though a depressed area. As they passed an old run down abandoned factory, his wife commented on the building and how it should be turned into a restaurant. It had such potential. He responded that it had no potential. It was in a depressed area and even it was turned into the best restaurant, no one would come - no one around had any money to spend on a restaurant. No potential!
Anyway, this boat had potential, at least to me. We contacted the broker and asked for a list of known problems and any other important information. "Engine needs to be rebuilt/replaced. running rigging needs to be replaced. Several ports leak. Soft spots close to the chain-plate moisture not sure of the level. Leaks on 4 of the port windows. Flooring beneath the mast step is "spongy" with rot. The mast/deck joint needs to be resealed to stop rainwater from entering the boat. Keel needs to repair; current repair job is ugly. All the wire and rope rigging need replacing. Hull needs faring, sanding, primer and repainting." Okay. Still has potential. We've dealt with all this before.
The most recent "potential" we had dealt with was Determination, a 1985 Jeanneau 27. Determination had been sitting on the hard, neglected for over six years. At some point her engine had been removed and epoxy putty had been glopped in the shaft log. Perhaps she would have been in better condition if they had left the hole. She leaked profusely and with no where for the water to drain, she filled up. The cabin sole had rotted away as did the lower six inches of all her cabinetry. Her cushions had molded and the headliner was falling down. She was sporting a lovely growth of green slime on the inside of her ports. Best of all, she had a large soft spot just forward of her mast. But she had potential! We went to work and rebuilt her, even finding a replacement engine. But I digress. We're talking about Condor.
So, armed with our list of known issues, a camera and a plastic hammer, we made a visit to Condor. She seemed so lonely sitting at the end of the yard. She looked like she was being punished. Her stern was toward the water as though she had been told she wasn't allowed to go back in. Or maybe she had just given up. But we thought she had potential.
We sounded her hull and deck and were satisfied with what we found. We dug through the cabin, inspecting the rotten floor. Yeah, it was a little worse than just around the mast step that was spongy with rot. Halyards fell apart as they were touched. The mainsail had been left on with no cover - that was obviously shot. But she appeared to be a well built boat, and with great potential. We gathered as much information as we could took a hundred photos and left.
Yeah, she has potential, but so does the neglected Express 35 in Toronto. Condor draws 6'4", the Express only 5'6". With the Bahama's gently calling, the Express with her windlass, windvane, and life raft was seeming more logical. Maybe we should get the Express and sail her down from Toronto. It would be a great trip. But she would need some work before sailing. She had a split in her rudder and a small area of delamination at the waterline.
After wrestling for weeks over who had the most potential, we settled it. We had devised a plan. We would make a low-ball offer on Condor. We knew the owner would refuse and that would be our sign that we should pursue the Express.
So, we did it. We offered less than half of the asking. Note, the asking was already far less than a third of what her value would be had she not been neglected. We called the broker and apologetically presented our offer. He somewhat reluctantly asked that we put it in writing and told us that he would present it to the owner.
Then the wait. And then the answer. The owner, what? Accepted? Oh no! What did we miss? How did we end up with 1985 Sabre 36? Yeah, our offered allowed for a complete rebuild of her cabin sole, the replacement of her engine, mainsail and running rigging, and the fairing of her hull. It even allowed some room for upgrades.
So, she's ours, our Condor. But she has great potential.
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